


Shake This Feeling

by officepark



Series: Transmission [2]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Some Humor, Trans Male Character, Trans V, Vaginal Sex, shout out to the porsche for being a trooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officepark/pseuds/officepark
Summary: For all that V loves fast cars and driving them like he's got a death wish, driving Johnny's 1977 Porsche 911 is a different story. It takes careful precision, and maybe actually obeying traffic laws for a change. That is, until Johnny starts making demands from the passenger seat.“Oh, come on, Johnny, not in the Porsche."
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: Transmission [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081421
Comments: 10
Kudos: 177





	Shake This Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the end of the Chippin' In sidequest! Also, V is trans, this fic uses words for his genitals like clit, pussy, etc, so just a heads up. This is a follow up to Road Rage, but you could probably read it without having read that one.

The Porsche handles like a dream. It glides down the road without a hitch– not that V would let a bump in the road disturb a single tread on a single tire on Johnny’s baby. For all that V loves fast cars and driving them like he’s got a death wish, he’s got kid gloves on up to his elbows with this one. It’s a goddamn antique! He takes every turn with gentle precision, actually looking both ways at intersections, obeying the speed limit, stopping at red lights. He may as well slap a “baby on board” sticker on one of the back windows. Nothing can happen to the Porsche. 

As careful as he has to be driving it, it seems wrong to let such a beautiful car sit in his garage undriven. That and, if he’s being honest, it scratches a certain itch deep down in him. V isn’t even sure how to describe it, just that driving the Porsche feels right, makes him feel alive. Maybe it’s because it makes Johnny happy. So long as he’s being candid with himself, making Johnny happy has jumped from the bottom to up near the top of his priorities.

He’s started smoking cigarettes, to watch Johnny’s shoulders relax and his expression soften with the relief of nicotine. He keeps the rock station on the radio, for the off chance Johnny materializes in the passenger seat to hum along with his own damn songs. Lets Johnny pick what they eat sometimes and tries to make sure he doesn’t burn the roof of his mouth. He’s even keeping the tattoo Johnny got on his one-night bender: their names in a heart, struck through with an arrow. The more V looks at it, the less it pisses him off, and the more it gives him a sinking feeling in his gut, catches something in his throat. 

So, they’ve had sex, if you count a handjob as sex. It’s not like one orgasm turned V into a lovesick groupie. He’s also currently Johnny’s only option, which probably has something to do with why he did it in the first place. That’s the long and short of it. There’s nothing else there for V to cling onto. Coupled with their tenuous roommate situation in V’s head, it’s the barest skeleton of a relationship you can have. So why did it feel like a freight train hit him when Johnny asked him to ask Rogue out on a date for him?

Johnny’s voice startles him from his thoughts. “‘Preciate the restraint,” he says, “but you usually have more fun when you drive, and I’m starting to feel insulted.”

“I am having fun,” V says, taking a quick glance at Johnny in the passenger seat. He looks at home, sunglasses and protective vest off for once. His eyes meet V’s, and V has to look away, feeling something inside him melt. “‘Sides, it’s, uh, kinda its own challenge. Follow the law, don’t hit anyone, keep your car safe…”

“Still,” Johnny says, tilting his head to stretch his neck, “think I prefer ‘spitting on other drivers’ V to ‘gonna piss his pants’ V.” 

V clicks his tongue. “What, so you hopped in to tell me  _ not _ to be careful with your car?” he asks. The Porsche garners a few turned heads as he passes down the street, filling V with an unearned sense of pride. 

“Hopped in to tell you to take it easy,” Johnny murmurs, leaning into V’s space. “Go fast, take her for a spin, drive like the bat outta hell you are. Maybe then we pick up where we left off.”

V’s breath stutters, and it feels like his heart is choking him. He’d be lying if he said the idea of it didn’t send a warm, heavy impulse between his thighs, his little cock perking up in attention. Little bastard is gonna be the end of him.

“Oh, come on, Johnny, not in the Porsche,” he groans. Johnny’s already placing an immaterial hand on his thigh. It’s heavy after a moment, trailing down to his knee and pressing so that V pushes down on the gas. He sucks in a breath, keeping the Porsche on the straight and narrow. If Johnny wants to crash his hundred-year-old collector’s item, that’s his problem. V’s not having it. He takes one hand off the wheel to swat the hand on his knee away, frustrated when he just phases through it. “No fair.”

“Relax,” Johnny says, holding his pressure on V’s knee. “Enjoy the drive. Take us somewhere you can get outta your head for a bit. God knows I need more leg room in here.”

V sets them on a course for the highway. This late at night, there aren’t too many other cars on the road. Even if there are, the Porsche is petite and weaves around the traffic with ease. V knows neither of them cares where they’re going, so long as they’re going there fast. Flying onto a ramp still feels sacrilegious, but speed is what the Porsche is built for. The engine purrs like it’s brand new. V doesn’t want to think about how he’s gonna have to maintain the damn thing.

In the silence, now used to Johnny’s hand on his leg, his thoughts drift back to Rogue. He still hasn’t called her. He meant it when he said he would. He will. It’s just, maybe he has been avoiding it. He doesn’t even mind the idea of Johnny using his body again, as poorly as it turned out last time. After their conversation at Johnny’s grave, he trusts him. Full stop. He  _ wants _ Johnny to have this, but every time he looks at Rogue’s contact on the holo, he stops short.

He knows there’s a word for how he feels, and it starts with a J, and ends in -EALOUS, but if V doesn’t look directly at it, it’s not there. Sure, he’ll admit he’s gotten used to Johnny, likes having him around, even. It’s the quiet moments V treasures, like when they’re “sharing” a cigarette together after a long day. Having a three AM dinner of street noodles that Johnny nods at and tells him to add more hot sauce to. Johnny watches him with sharp eyes behind his aviators when V’s getting going in the morning, pulling half a dozen jackets out of his closet until Johnny tells him “That one.” V liked living alone, but he thinks he likes living with Johnny more. The domesticity of it makes something curl up in V’s stomach and stay there, warm and solid and  _ insistent _ . 

“Still in your head, huh?” Johnny asks, drawing his hand up from V’s knee to his thigh. He rubs little circles with his thumb. V can’t tell if they’re meant to be reassuring or just teasing.

He bites his lip and has to force his leg not to jitter under Johnny’s touch. Last time everything just sort of… happened. Now V’s finding the time to be a bundle of nerves about it all. He doesn’t know if Johnny’s got a throughline to his thoughts or not, but the idea makes his blood run cold. Johnny’d said once that he mostly gets memories, but the longer they do this, the more he gets access to. “Said you wouldn’t go pokin’ around in my head,” V says.

“Didn’t need to. You got your thinking face on,” Johnny says. His thumb stills, both of them quiet for a moment, the sounds of the Porsche’s engine and the radio filling the silence. It dawns on V that Johnny’s giving him the chance to  _ talk _ about his  _ feelings _ . He could hurk.

V shifts over into the left lane, pressing down hard on the gas. Graffiti and advertisements blur in his periphery. He keeps his eyes locked on the horizon because if he looks at Johnny right now, he’s afraid of what will come out of him. “You could help with that, you know,” he says to the windshield.

“That what you’re after?” Johnny asks, sliding his hand up V’s thigh, past his hip, under his jacket. He grazes across V’s chest, pausing only to thumb one of V’s nipples over his shirt. V stiffens, and Johnny leans into his ear. “S’posed to relax, V.”

V forces out a breath. Johnny keeps playing with him, taking his nipple between his thumb and index finger to roll and tweak it. V vocalizes a soft, embarrassing little noise with his breath, unable to swallow it down. At least it eggs Johnny on, who pinches and pulls at the hardening bud under his fingertips. He presses his lips to the spot under V’s ear, seeming to know now to wait a moment for the feeling to lose its vagueness and focus into the softness of his lips and the scratch of his facial hair. V obligingly tilts his head to the side to give him an easier time of it. Another noise escapes him when Johnny’s teeth nip at his skin, followed by the quick dart of his tongue. He makes his way down V’s neck until his jacket gets in the way, and Johnny pulls away with an irritated huff.

“Off,” he commands, with a punctuating pinch of V’s nipple. V tries to swallow a moan, but it makes its way out anyway, sounding all the more pathetic for being halting and stifled.

“I’m driving,” he complains.

“You’re driving in a straight line,” Johnny says. “Jacket off. You don’t wanna make me do it.”

V grumbles, more about the fact that being told what to do has got him wetter than anything else Johnny’s done today. He takes his foot off the gas, but it gets him a warning look and another pinch from Johnny. He hisses and presses back down on the pedal. V squirms in his seat, slipping one arm and then the other out of his jacket, and then tugging it out from behind him to toss it in the backseat. He glares daggers at Johnny and then the road.

“Happy now?”

“Gettin’ there,” Johnny says, like he’s weighing something out. V takes his eyes off the road for just a second to catch Johnny’s and immediately regrets it for the flip his stomach does. “Think I’d be happier if you wanted to be a good boy. You wanna be a good boy, V?”

V laughs in disbelief. “The fuck are you on?” he says, his voice sounding much smaller than he intended.

“Naw,” Johnny continues, like he didn’t say anything important. “You’d rather be a little brat, wouldn’t you?” 

Before V can react to that, Johnny leans back in to leave a hard kiss at the base of V’s throat, pressing hard enough with his mouth to cut off his air. V can’t make a sound, but if he did, the resulting moan would surely kill him of embarrassment. Johnny pulls away after almost too long, and V lurches forward onto the steering wheel, gasping for air. He can feel Johnny’s hand on his back, rubbing a soothing circle as he catches his breath. 

V’s voice is ragged when he says, “Thought you gave up on tryin’ to zero me.”

“Who knows what I get up to,” Johnny mutters, but there’s no real threat behind it. His metal hand is still rubbing V’s back, still making sure he’s okay. He pats his back a couple of times and slides his hand up to V’s shoulder, pulling him back and away from the steering wheel. He leans in to bite at V’s neck, trailing what feel like bruises down to his shoulder. All of the attention makes V a little dizzy. The road rolls up quicker than it should. Then again, maybe that was the choking.

The highway gives way to the North Oak hills. The winding road is usually a piece of cake for V, and he takes it breakneck, with little regard for other cars. In the Porsche, though? All V wants is to hit the brakes, take the curves slowly and gently, make sure nothing happens to this beautiful car. He knows Johnny won’t have that. He doesn’t let up on the gas, like a  _ good boy _ , and the turns come fast and hard. Almost makes him wish he wore his seatbelt. He’s rewarded with Johnny’s lips instead of his teeth, open-mouthed kisses pressed back up his neck and to his jaw. He whines when Johnny pulls away. 

“Turn up here, baby. Parking lot,” he murmurs. 

_ Baby _ . V’s stomach flips. The pet name pulls on his heart in a way he doesn’t want to think about. Makes him dizzier than Johnny cutting off his oxygen. He does as he’s told, anyway, and pulls into the lot. Relief floods through him when he finally gets to park, the Porsche no worse for wear as it slots into a space facing the road. He shifts in the driver’s seat to better face Johnny. The other man looks back at him, either expectant or measuring him up, V can’t tell. This is a more level playing field than Johnny’s put him on before. V’s free to reciprocate, if he wants– maybe even encouraged to. He finds every sexual encounter he’s ever had knocked right out of his brain, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands or how to even look at him. 

Johnny decides for him. He takes V’s wrists and pulls him toward his side of the car, guiding his hands to his shoulders. V obeys and wraps his arms loosely around Johnny’s neck. His breath comes quick and shallow. Johnny feels as real as anything else, the only mark against his physicality the occasional flicker, like when V’s optical display loads in. Johnny wraps his arms around V’s waist, tugging him closer, into the gap between the seats. V scoffs a complaint, but it dies when Johnny kisses him.

He doesn’t waste time. His tongue slips into V’s mouth, and V melts into it, immediately granting him access to explore and prod. It’s the sort of kiss that rewrites all of V’s mental notes on kissing as a concept. What the hell was he doing before, and why wasn’t it  _ this _ ? Johnny’s hands slide up to his ribcage, like they’re trying to find spots that’ll draw out soft noises from V’s mouth into Johnny’s. It works immediately, if only because V’s so starved for touch, so anxious for  _ Johnny _ to touch him wherever he wants. V finds his footing and lets his tongue find Johnny’s, hungry and desperate. He pulls away to take a breath, then dives back in to bite at Johnny’s lower lip, hard. Johnny groans.

“Like I said. Brat,” he mutters, squeezing both hands around V’s ribs. 

He manhandles V roughly into his lap and cradles him so V’s legs have little place to go but tucked up against the car door. V hangs onto him around his neck, finding himself grinning. It’s his turn to kiss and bite at Johnny’s neck and jaw. The scratch of his beard against his lips sends a thrill into his stomach. V no longer finds the room to feel embarrassed about how hard his cock is, how wet Johnny’s got him. He just imagines Johnny’s fingers finding their way there, slicking themselves up and touching him with intimate knowledge and skill. Johnny squeezes his hip, and he moans into his neck. 

Johnny slides his hand from V’s hip up to his midriff and plucks at the thin fabric of his crop top. “Tired of this. Brats don’t get shirts, anyway,” he says. He brushes his fingers underneath the fabric. “Cute as it is.”

V feels himself flush and does his best to ignore it. If he’s gonna be called a brat, though, he might as well play the part. “What, you gonna make me?” he asks.

Johnny sinks his nails into V’s skin, and V takes a sharp breath. He finds V’s ear and growls, “Want me to take control? Wanna feel totally helpless while I make you do whatever I want? Don’t have to stop at taking off your shirt, y’know. Just make you watch, trapped in your head while I do whatever I want with your body. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

V doesn’t admit to it with words, but the shudder that rolls through him may as well be poetry dedicated to the idea. Johnny tugs at his earlobe with his teeth. V whimpers. He untangles his arms from Johnny’s neck and pulls away enough to pull his shirt off over his head and toss it back with his jacket. Johnny leans back in appreciation. 

“That’s a good boy,” he murmurs. He runs his hands over V’s bare chest, pulling him back to him. “C’mere. That’s it. Rather fuck you right, anyway.”

His lips are back on V’s, soft and appreciative, then all teeth and tongue. V has to admit, he likes being rewarded. Johnny’s metal hand comes up at the base of his skull and holds him there, securing him in place and giving him no other option but to keep kissing, keep desperately seeking more attention. V put his hands on Johnny’s shoulders, slipping his fingers underneath the straps of his tank top. Skin. He wants Johnny’s skin pressed against his. He whines, tugging on Johnny’s shirt. Johnny pulls away to look at him pout.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for things now?'' he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His lips are swollen and red, and V can only imagine what he looks like himself. Johnny plays stupid, leans in to V’s ear again and presses little kisses along his cheek and jaw. “What do you want, baby?” he murmurs. “And whaddya wanna do for it?”

“Shirt off,” V demands, trying to sit up a little straighter and give himself an inch more authority.

“Think you can ask a little nicer than that, V,” Johnny says, tugging lightly on his hair. 

V huffs, pulling away from Johnny’s grasp. He shimmies backwards and off of Johnny’s lap, down to the floor between Johnny’s legs. It’s cramped, and he can feel the glove compartment against his back. He wonders if Johnny remembers he has a perfectly good bed they could be doing this in, but then he’s got his hands on Johnny’s thighs, and Johnny’s hand is back in his hair, and the thought evaporates. V slides his hands up to his hips and pulls, happy when Johnny obliges and scoots toward the edge of the seat.

V kisses up his thighs, the taste of leather on his tongue. He hates these pants. He hates more that they’re a good look on him, that he’s caught himself staring at the way they hug low on Johnny’s hips. He encourages V with a tug on his hair, pulling him to where V is pleased to see his cock straining against the material. V mouths him diligently through the leather. He seeks out the length of his shaft with his lips, slicking up the outside of Johnny’s pants with his tongue. Johnny rewards him with a low moan and a tight grip in his hair, intent on keeping him right where he is. It makes V hum against him, and he can feel Johnny’s hips stutter, preventing himself from rolling them up onto V’s mouth.

It’s probably enough to get what he wants, but V knows it’s not  _ enough _ . Not wet enough, not enough heat, not enough of Johnny’s cock in his mouth for his own liking. He pushes against Johnny’s grip and sits back to unclip his belt. The clasp of his pants is easy enough, and the zipper V leans in and grasps between his teeth, pulling down gently, as not to catch his lips in it. Johnny huffs a laugh.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice now thick with desire. “Want my shirt off that bad, huh?”

V ignores him long enough to pull his cock out and give it a few good strokes. He presses his lips to the head, more a kiss than a suck, his eyes flitting upward to Johnny’s. “Please?” he asks, his lips brushing Johnny’s cock with the word. Johnny groans.

“Drive a hard bargain,” he admits. He presses up from the seat and tugs his shirt off by the back of his collar. It glitches into nothing before he has to put it anywhere. His dog tags settle on his chest with a soft, metallic clink. V swallows him down in thanks, which makes Johnny suck in a breath as he sinks back into the passenger seat. “ _ Good boy _ .”

His fingers tangle into V’s hair again, encouraging his head to bob up and down. V squeezes his thighs together on the floor. Nothing about this is making him any less desperate. At least Johnny seems to be in the same boat, losing more and more of his pretense of control and letting himself thrust into V’s waiting mouth. The teeth of his zipper press into V’s jaw, but V can’t find a reason to care, not with Johnny trying to breach the back of his throat and testing the limits of his gag reflex. The man doesn’t shut up, grunting and muttering, “yeah, baby” and “that’s it” and, illustriously, “Such a good little slut, letting me fuck your mouth.” Tears well up at the corners of V’s eyes, and he squeezes hard on Johnny’s hips, his jaw going slack as it can. Johnny pulls him off his cock by his hair, tugging him up enough to meet him halfway and kiss him on the mouth. V melts into it, feeling a foreign rush of  _ care _ .

Johnny pulls away, loosening his grip in V’s hair and simply running his hand back through it. “You’re dripping wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs. His hand comes back to cup V’s cheek, and his thumb brushes away a tear. “Sucking my cock’s got you wanting it in your pussy even more.”

V wants to protest, to fight back and bicker like they do, but his head is swimming, and all he can do is lean into Johnny’s touch and nod. 

“Say it,” Johnny prompts. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” V mumbles into Johnny’s palm, pressing a kiss that leaves a slick spot of spit on the heel of his hand.

“C’mon,” Johnny needles, “you’ve got better than that, baby. Pants off, tell me how you really feel.”

With a grumble, V lifts himself back up onto the driver’s seat. He starts untying his boots, speaking more to his laces than to Johnny. “Want you to fuck me, that so hard?” he says, sparing a look the other man’s way. Johnny’s leaned back in the passenger seat, one hand around his cock, working it with slow, lazy strokes. V kicks off his boots and looks at where they’ve flopped over on the floor next to the pedals as he tugs off his pants. “Already know you’re gonna fuck me like no one else has managed to. Wanna feel your cock in me when I come. Want your cum on my insides, drippin’ outta me, sore tomorrow, the whole works. Please.”

He lifts his head to look at Johnny, whose lips twitch upward. “Yeah, alright,” he says, jerking his head. “Get over here.”

Johnny tugs his pants down to his ankles, and V crosses back over to the passenger seat, straddling his thighs. V wraps his arms back around Johnny’s shoulders. He’s naked and vulnerable, feeling smaller than he is, and V doesn’t  _ feel _ like this about sex. He doesn’t get nervous. He doesn’t lose himself to submissive impulses. He doesn’t feel butterflies in his stomach when whoever’s fucking him looks at him the way Johnny’s looking at him now. There’s lust, sure, but there’s something else V can’t read. It makes him want to run as much as it makes him want to stay and do this forever.

Johnny’s hands slide up his waist. “Baby, stop thinkin’,” he murmurs, trailing kisses up V’s jaw. He pulls him closer against him to rub his cock against V’s hard clit. V gasps, lifting himself up on his knees for a better angle. Johnny takes advantage to slide the length of himself along V’s wet cunt, rolling his hips and teasing at his opening.

“Johnny,” he breathes.

“Yeah?”

“This… kinda sucks.”

Johnny laughs, but he doesn’t let up with his rocking against him. “What, legs cramping already?”

“Yeah, actually,” V snaps, unable to help himself from rolling his hips along, matching Johnny’s pace. There isn’t much room on the seat with Johnny taking it up, and V feels like his knees are gonna slide right off. 

Johnny rolls his eyes but gives them both a break by stilling his hips. “Fuckin’ turn around then, V. C’mon, this isn’t rocket science,” he says. 

It’s awkward to turn around on Johnny’s lap, but V does, which lets him have his feet on the floor instead. A car rolls by on the winding road in front of them, and V suddenly remembers the Porsche is old. It might be luxury, but it doesn’t have the Caliburn’s cloaked privacy windows. He looks back at Johnny with daggers.

Johnny grins. “That’s right, baby. Let the whole world see you fuck yourself on nothin’ in my car. You get to stare right back at ‘em,” he says. He tips his head forward and presses a kiss against the back of V’s neck. “To think I wanted to see your face.”

A shuddering thrill runs through V at the thought of being seen. Johnny has the luxury of incorporeality, but V’s on display. Every distant headlight is another pair of eyes to catch him naked and caught up in pleasure. Johnny slides his hands to V’s hips, pushing up to remind him what they’re there for. V lifts himself up and lets Johnny pull him back down, guiding him onto his cock slowly. V leans forward to brace himself on the dashboard, and a moan slips out of him at the feeling of Johnny’s cock stretching him open. He lifts his hips back up, just to make Johnny pull him down again so he can feel the head of his cock go in him another time.

“Don’t tease,” Johnny warns, and he does sound like he means it. V lets him have his way, and Johnny guides him the rest of the way onto him, until V sits full and snug on his lap. Johnny pulls V back from the dashboard and tucks his chin over his shoulder. “There you go. That’s my good boy.”

V feels a swell of pride, followed by an equally powerful swell of incredulity at himself. It’s like Johnny just handed him a gold sticker, but it’s still effective at getting him worked up. He lets out a shuddering breath, shifting his hips experimentally to see how Johnny feels inside him. The reviews are overwhelmingly positive. It gets Johnny to roll his hips up into him, and V clutches at the passenger door with a low moan. They’re pressed so close together that Johnny only has room for shallow thrusts without V’s help, so V braces one of his feet against the low wall connected to the gearshift to give himself more leverage and pump himself up and down on Johnny’s cock.

“Yeah,” Johnny murmurs in his ear, “you’re never one to take it slow. Should make you, for putting me through all that law-abiding bullshit earlier.”

It’s an empty threat. He thrusts up into V with the same desperate pace. He somehow finds the time to kiss at V’s ear, to tug on his earlobe with his teeth, and V lets himself fill the small space with a moan. Johnny pushes him forward, so V has to brace himself on the dashboard again, and it turns out to be a great angle for Johnny to hit the spot inside him that makes his vision white out over and over again. The more and louder V moans, the harder Johnny thrusts, a slick slap resounding every time he slams back up into V. 

“Fuck–” V groans, clutching at the dash. Johnny’s hand slips forward and finds his clit to jerk him off as he fucks him. He forgoes any teasing, just strokes him between his thumb and index finger, occasionally rubbing a firm circle over the head with his thumb. V lets his head hang forward, lost in pleasure. The only thing that rouses him is passing headlights, the reminder that Johnny’s got him on display. He whines.

“Tell me about it, baby,” Johnny huffs, keeping his pace steady now that V’s made it clear he likes it. Johnny tips his head against V’s back, shaking his head against him and pressing a firm kiss to his skin. “Bein’ so good for me. Takin’ my cock so well, my good boy.”

V’s glad Johnny never shuts up. His words, mumbled against his skin, keep him right against the edge. He’s so desperate for release, his movements becoming clumsy as he does his best to stay upright, to keep himself bouncing up and down on Johnny’s cock. Johnny’s metal hand squeezes on his hip to help keep him steady. It almost hurts, but that’s not exactly a bad thing. Johnny’s other hand works his clit faster, and V feels his breath catch, feels everything start to crescendo. V squeezes down around Johnny’s cock, and both of them shudder.

“C’mon, baby, come for me,” Johnny murmurs. “V, you feel so fucking good– let me see you come on my cock.”

“Johnny–” V moans. “You’re so– fucking– demanding!”

With a few more thrusts, he’s sent, a gasping moan leaving him as Johnny keeps fucking into him. He tries to keep up, but the orgasm is just too much to stay coordinated, and he gives up, his arms scrambling to keep himself braced against the dashboard.

Johnny groans, lifting himself up to better fuck V to his own climax. V feels overstimulated and raw, Johnny’s cock still pounding him. Before long, Johnny thrusts fast and hard, muttering curses and “V, baby, yes–” and V feels hot cum spilling inside him. Johnny slows his hips, riding out the wave, then sinks back into the seat, pulling V back with him. 

He presses kisses all along the back of V’s shoulders, and his arms wrap around him tight. V tips his head back onto Johnny’s shoulder and lets the other man kiss him, sloppy and spent. 

They sit like that for a moment, until Johnny lightly slaps his thigh as a cue for him to get up. V whines but does as he’s told, lifting himself off of Johnny’s softening cock. He tries to get back in the driver’s seat, but Johnny grabs his wrist. 

“Tilt the seat back, ya gonk,” he mumbles. “Enjoy that afterglow you were so gung-ho about.”

V gets back in Johnny’s lap, straddling him to face him again. His hand searches blindly for the lever to tilt the Porsche’s seat back. It only lowers with a push from V, since Johnny doesn’t actually weigh anything, but then Johnny pulls him to his chest and tucks him under his chin. He presses a kiss in V’s hair. V could expire, but he settles for just closing his eyes.

“Johnny?”

“What now?”

“You do know I have a bed, right?” V says. “We don’t, uh…  _ only _ have to do this in expensive cars.” He feels Johnny smile into his hair.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he says. “Porsche hasn’t seen any action in a while, anyway.”

“Gross.”

Johnny squeezes him, and V feels his body go limp of its own accord. He sighs and sinks into the feeling of being held. Everything else can wait for now. The chip, dying, the uphill climb of making a name for himself, calling Rogue– all of it can wait. 

“Not gonna think yourself into an early grave now, are ya?” Johnny murmurs, one hand coming up to stroke his hair.

V hums, considering. “Nah,” he says. “Made me forget how to think. You got me.”

“That’s right,” Johnny whispers. “I got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from Fingers and the Outlaws' So It Goes, which played on the radio on my way to Johnny's grave, and now it's their song, you know? Anyway, thank you for reading!


End file.
